iDeal With A Rumor
by Mulligatawny
Summary: "Seriously Sam, why'd you tell the world I was gay!"/ Seddie friendship oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I hate these. A lot.**

**(A/N) (insert long story of how I came up with this here) (insert lame joke here) (insert random comment here) (insert a comment about my day here) (insert all the other information you don't care about here) I think that's about it for the standard author's note. And now for the real author's note: I got the idea for this from a line in one of my other iCarly fics although you don't have to read it to get this. And for any Maximum Ride fans out there, see if you can spot the hidden reference to the series. Oh and this isn't necessarily romantic. It's just their friendship. But see it how you want.**

* * *

That stupid blonde-headed demon. She's gone way too far this time. Darn her. Darn her to heck. Darn anybody who laughs at the fact I don't curse. Grr. Darn my inability to sound tough. Darn the morons who spray-painted my locker with rainbows and the words _Freddie Benson is gay. _Someone even taped a purple rubber ducky to my locker. What does that even have to do with gayness? I mean seriously! Did they just decide "Hey the Internet says he's gay so let's do something that makes no sense like tape a purple rubber ducky to his locker to confuse him!"

Anyways, you're probably wondering what I'm rambling on about. Well seeing as I must always keep the people I talk to in my head informed, I'll tell you what happened. And of course it involves Sam Puckett (aka the Overlord of Sadisticness.) Because as we all know, the Overlord of Sadisticness is responsible for all unfortunate events in my life since the day I met her.

See the Overlord of Sadisticness apparently decided it'd be lots of fun to spread a rumor about me online. But not a silly rumor like 'He's come from Mars to steal everyone's appendix'. No. That's too simple for the Overlord of Sadisticness.

She decided to spread a rumor telling everyone that I'm gay. Now I'm not a homophobe. But do you know what it's like to have people walk up to you, smack you, call you queer, and run away giggling like little schoolgirls?

DO YOU? AND THAT'S JUST THE TEACHERS!

Don't even get me started on what my peers have done to me. (In case you're wondering, the emotional scars will never heal.)

What's that? You want to hear what they've done to me? Well break out the popcorn because it's gonna take a while. Let's start with Shane who was supposedly my friend. You know what he did? HE KICKED ME OUT OF A/V CLUB. HE SAID THE A/V CLUB GOT MADE FUN OF ENOUGH WITHOUT A GAY PERSON IN THE CLUB. JERK. I WAS THE ONE THAT INVITED HIM TO JOIN. I VOTED FOR HIM AS PRESIDENT IN CHARGE OF RED WIRES AND UNTANGLING WIRES. I HELP HIM WIN THAT PRESTIGIOUS HONOR AND THIS IS HOW HE REPAYS ME?

But I digress. (What does that mean, you ask? I don't know what that means but I've heard people say it after they finish screaming and it makes me sound intelligent.)

You know what who needs Shane anyways? Let's forget about that nubwad. All he's got going for him is that he looks like the metro singer from that new band tons of girls drool over. Big Time Rush or something like that. Yeah, I could care less about him.

MOVING ON.

There's also Rip-Off Rodney. He didn't do anything directly to me. However, when that rumor started circulating on the Internet, he coincidentally started selling rotten heads of lettuce that he claimed were perfect for throwing at people. (Well, all the vegetables he sells are rotten but this is just the only time he's admitted it.) DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY HOBOS START FOLLOWING YOU WHEN YOU SMELL LIKE A WALKING SALAD? ANSWER: A LOT. I'VE BEEN HAVING NIGHTMARES ABOUT IT.

(Now you're probably wondering "How bad can dreams about rotten lettuce and hobos be?" You ask. I answer: When you dream about turning into were-lettuce while being chased by drooling hobos that smell like fungus, you don't exactly wake up in a good mood. Or on the bed.)

But you know, I never liked Rip-Off Rodney. He's stupid enough to mispell the word hall and he's due for another suspension any day now because of he's recently started selling counterfeit math textbooks. He has to get caught because the textbooks spell math 'maff'. Forget the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Roll Pop. That binge-eating owl needs to start asking the world how Rodney got graduated from kindergarten. Pfft. I may be the subject of a reputation-ruining rumor but at least I can spell elementary-school level words.

You know what? I no longer care about lame Rip-Off Rodney or his lack of vocabulary skills. Yeah. He can go die in a hole. A big hole inhabited by hungry vegetarian hobos. A hole that's overflowing with dictionaries and math textbooks. Yeah...

THEN I CAN STAND AT THE EDGE WHILE MOCKING HIM AND LAUGHING MANIACALLY! HA! YES! THAT'D BE ENJOYABLE. (Dear Gosh, I've been hanging out with Sam too much. I'm changing the subject before I start craving deli meat or eating with my mouth open.)

So where was I? Oh yeah, now I've gotten to Jeremy. Or you can take a page from Sam's book and call him Germy. (What? Don't laugh People still use that saying! Even when the person you're referring to doesn't read!) So back to Germy. You'd think someone who's perpetually sick and near the bottom of the high school food chain would know better than to make fun of someone much cooler and ten times better-looking than him. (Shut up. You know I'm attractive. It's okay. Sam's not here to terrorize you into not believing it. You can admit it.)

So you know what Germy does?

HE SNEEZED ON ME IN FRONT OF MY GERMAPHOBIC MOM. DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S LIKE WHEN YOUR MOM FORCES YOU TO TAKE AN HOUR-LONG BATH IN UNSCENTED HAND SANITIZER? ANSWER: AFTER THIRTY SECONDS, IT STINGS. A LOT. AND THERE'S NO PLEASANT SMELL TO DISTRACT YOU. ONLY PAIN AND THE SOUND OF A PIECE OF MY SOUL CHIPPING AWAY.

IT ALSO CAUSES YOU TO COME UP WITH DISTURBINGLY MORBID LINES ABOUT THE STATE OF YOUR SOUL.

You know...I feel kinda bad screaming at you. Then again, you're just people in my head so I can make it so it doesn't bother you. ABRA-KADABRA. Now it doesn't bother you!

...

I'm so lame.

CONTINUING ONWARDS.

So after Germy does that to me, guess who decides to irritate me next?

TUREEN.

OF ALL THE PEOPLE AT SCHOOL, WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE THAT BLABBERMOUTH?

Granted, it could've been worse. She could've made fun of me. Although being mocked could've been less painful than what she actually did. What did she do? She started rambling on and on about how she always wanted a gay best friend. She started telling me about how we should go shopping, how all the girls would be jealous of her gay best friend, she'd be the best-dressed girl in school thanks to her gay friend's style intuition, she'd finally know how a gay mind works, BLAH BLAH BLAH I EVENTUALLY TUNED HER OUT. THAT IS NOT AN EASY TASK ESPECIALLY SINCE SHE STOOD THISCLOSE TO MY FACE. I SHOULD'VE WORN A RAINCOAT TO PROTECT MYSELF FROM THE SPIT SHOWERS. (Ironically, the weather forecast that day was sunny with clear skies.)

Although my method of getting rid of her was quite impressive and demeaning at the same time. I told her that I 'totes had to go shoe shopping with my unfortunately fashion-challenged cousin and that she needed my gayness to help her pick out the perfect strappy shoes for the prom'. It was impressive due to the fact that the lie came very easily to me. (Being friends with Sam finally came in handy after years of abuse in various forms.) It was demeaning due to the fact Principal Franklin and Mr. Howards looked at me like I was smoking nine different kinds of crack. They still can't look me in the eye. Mr. Howard went so far as to draw a rainbow on his board and writing that it was in honor of me. I hate that man. I'd hate whoever spawned him except her life is hard enough living with the guilt of bring that into the world.

But let's forget about horrible Mr. Howards. He's just a zit on the teenage face of humanity.

...

I'm a tech whiz, not a poet.

So let me distract you from my fail descriptive language skills and share with you what Wendy did. Well...When you think about, her reaction wasn't that bad. She walked up to me and gave me a hug. She smelled like bubblegum. Don't know why that's important. I just thought a good narrator includes sensory details in their internal monologue. I guess that was a mistake.

So back to Wendy and her bubblegum scent. After she gave me a hug, she told me she would always be there for me and that if anybody was ever mean to me, she'd let me borrow her purse to whack them with. I didn't really know how to respond to the whole purse thing. Instead, I tried to convince her that was a stupid rumor Sam started. But then she went off on this long lecture on how it's the twenty-first century and gayness is becoming a normal part of society, that I'm not the only gay at the school, and how I have nothing to be ashamed of. I tried to explain the story but then she had to go shopping for a prom dress. She invited me to come help her. I declined. I wanted to throw a blunt object at her but that would've been ungentlemanlike behavior and way too Sam-esque for my tastes.

That reminds me. I almost forgot about Rebecca Berkowitz. She walked up to me and thumped my arm with her Geometry textbook. I have the bruise to prove it. Then she went off on this long spiel (What? It's a word!) about how God frowns upon me and that I need to repent. She told me she'd pray for me. Then she whacked me with her cross necklace. Because violence is so religious. Which brings me to my question: Since when is Rebecca Berkowitz such a religious nut? Did she just wake up and decide 'Hey I'll start being super religious today even though I've gotten drunk and had underage sex?' Because if that's what happened, then she seriously needs to stop smoking pot. Yeah. She does that too. I wonder what happened to nice, understanding, never-whack-Freddie-with-a-heavy-math-textbook Rebecca Berkowitz.

Ah well. Enough with the trip down Memory Lane. (What? People still say that! Really!)

Seeing as we're on the topic of confusion, let me tell you what Ms. Ackerman did. Yeah. You heard me. Ms. Ackerman, the teacher we sent to jail a few years ago. She commented on my SplashFace page. She spammed my wall with various messages that said stuff like 'I always knew there was something wrong with you' and 'You queer' and 'Get me out of this rathole Mr. Rainbow Gaypants'.

Now instead of being offended about all this, I wondered something: How did Ms. Ackerman get online from jail? Last time I checked, there were no computers, much less wi-fi access in jail! Or does she go to some cushy jail where they give clingy psychos internet access in order to prevent them from going off the deep end? (That saying is still used! Really! It is! I heard an eighty-year-old couple use it the other day!)

Seriously, if there's wi-fi access in jail, I think we should've done something worse than get her arrested. As long as you can go online, no place can be truly boring and/or a punishment.

Oh no. I just realized something.

Maybe Ms. Ackerman's on parole.

What if she's turned into a revenge-crazed, axe-wielding maniac determined to turn my life into a cheesy horror movie called 'THE NERD WHO SENT HIS TEACHER TO JAIL TO SAVE HIS BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER FROM HAVING TO DATE HER AND HOW THAT SAME TEACHER CHOPS HIS HEAD OFF'? I can see the tagline already: THE DEATH OF FREDDIE BENSON: THE AWESOMEST TECH GEEK TO HAVE EVER GRACED THE EARTH WITH HIS AWESOME HAIR!

OR WORSE.

WHAT IF SHE EATS ME?

AFTER ALL, I'M CHEWY AND TASTE GOOD WITH KETCHUP.

But when I think about it, I suppose I taste better with mayonaisse. Perhaps a nice olive oil sauce instead. She could even pour some cinnamon on me. Although basil leaves would be better with olive oil. Oh! I know! The taste of my human flesh would be best complemented with-

OH DEAR GOSH. I'VE SNAPPED. LISTEN TO ME. I'M ALREADY WRITING A COOKBOOK FOR EATING HUMANS IN MY HEAD. DARN YOU SAM. DARN YOU. YOU DID THIS TO ME. WHAT WITH UNLEASHING MS. ACKERMAN'S OFFENSES ON ME AND SPREADING THAT UNTRUE RUMOR ABOUT ME.

Speaking of Sam, I forgot to tell you how my friends and Sam reacted. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I should be more considerate.

Well, let's start with Carly. Carly was online and she saw that one of the trending topics on Twitter was 'Freddie Benson is gay'. Speaking of Twitter, that's how Sam spread the rumor. She went on iCarly's account and tweeted 'Hey iCarly fanfreaks! I just thought you should know that Freddie recently came out of the closet! Show him some support!'. Darn her.

Anyways back to Carly aka my best friend who doesn't stab my reputation repeatedly until all the life goes out of it and leaves me coming up with disturbing lines like this one. (Seriously, where am I coming up with this? Is there a repressed goth in me that enjoys depressing poetry and can play a mean harmonica?)

Carly just walked up to me and started asking me questions. The questions were in order: How you doing Freddie? Need a hug? Anything you want to tell me? Anything you told Sam? Anything closet-related? Any inner turmoil you've been secretly struggling with that you've resolved and wanna tell me about? After that, it wasn't so much a _question_ as it was an _explosion_. She yelled out "FREDDIE BENSON, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE GAY?" Of course I was shocked. I'm straight. Straight as something that's...very...straight in its...straight straightness...of straight-ity. If that's even a word. (Like I said before: Tech geek. Not a poet.)

So I told Carly that I was straight and that I would've informed her immediately if I really was gay. She didn't believe me. She showed me the tweet. I just stood there with my mouth gaping open. I'm sure it must've seemed very attractive. After seeing my obvious surprise, Carly changed her mind about me being gay. Then she went upstairs, saying something about how she needed to tell Spencer that he didn't have to worry about having a supportive man-to-man talk with me. (Only Carly...)

So as I stood there becoming increasingly mad at Sam who obviously is responsible for this situation, Gibby walked in. He was all wide-eyed and stammering about how he really didn't have to talk to Carly at that time. I wasn't sure what was going on until I realized that he follows iCarly on Twitter. But by then, he had already sprinted out the door and I didn't get a chance to explain about Sam's latest attempt to push me to jumping off the nearest cliff. (Oh Gibby...What are we going to do with you?)

After Gibby fleed from me, my mom stormed in with tears streaming down her face. She looked like Niagara Falls. She was blubbering about how disappointed she felt 'that her own little boy would tell the online community about being gay before telling his own mommy'. After giving her some nice cold fruit kabobs to calm her down (she's been obsessed with fruit skewered on a stick ever since she went to the Groovy Smoothie for the first time last month), I calmly explained to her that it was just yet another prank Sam pulled on me. She then pulled out some anti-bacterial hypoallergenic tissues (Really, where does she find all this stuff?), wiped her face dry, and marched out of the Shay's apartment to go prepare fat-free turkey for dinner. (Don't ask. I don't know how it's possible. I just know it's really hard to swallow.)

This left me alone on the Shays' couch, silently fuming about what Sam did to me.

That my friends/people in my head is the story of what Sam did to me. And in case you're wondering, this all happened two days ago. Yep, two days of living in this nightmare. I haven't even heard from Sam. Carly said she and her mom went on some court-mandated anger management retreat in Yakima. I assume that the prank was to get any remaining frustration/anger/homicidal feelings she had before the anger management retreat.

BUT THAT'S STILL NO EXCUSE!

(Pardon that outburst. I thought I was done screaming at you. I thought wrong. Not like I'd ever admit it out loud.)

So, I'm stuck here in the janitor's closet, waiting for Carly to escort me to my mom's car. Why do I need girly and weak Carly Shay to escort me? So she can flirt with the kids that have been throwing Skittles at me every chance they get while I run behind them to safety (aka my mom's car). Why did I use the word 'escort'? Because I'm cool like that. (Gah. I just got a flashback of that washer-dryer commercial where you hear that guy rapping 'Because I'm cool like that' in the background. Now I'm even more annoyed. Fantastic.)

I slightly open the door and scan the hallway for any delinquents. (Oh god, I sound like a juvenile corrections officer on the run from the law.) There's still a few people left. Unfortunately, those people are the gigantic, extremely muscular, strong enough to break my leg bones, gay-hating seniors on the first-string football team. I close the door and continue to hide out in the closet. And no, the irony of the fact I'm waiting in a closet doesn't escape me. I glance around at my surroundings. Weird. I half expected to see Justin Bieber cowering in the corner.

(Oh no. What if one of you is a Justin Bieber fan? Oh gosh. Please don't form an angry mob and kill me! Please! I didn't mean it! I'm too young to die! What's that? The only reason you accept my apology because you didn't want to see me curl up in the fetal position and start sobbing because I think I'm going to die? I'll take it!)

I ball my hands into fists as I think of the blonde-headed demon that put me in this situation. She just had to spread a rumor about me being gay. She's probably in Yakima laughing her head off. This angers me. I take out my phone and look through my contacts. I stop when I see the word 'Tormentor' and press the green button to dial the number. She answers me on the second ring.

"What up, Lord Nub-A-Lot?" I clench my teeth. She's ruined my life and she sounds so nonchalant about it.

"You know what's up."

"Other than the sky and the roof-depends on the situation-, no I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice sounds like she wants to say something mean but something's stopping her. I should send that something a gift basket.

"You know what I'm talking about! Seriously Sam, why'd you tell the world I was gay? And you know it's not true!" I can practically feel her flinch on the other end of the phone as I scream at her. I realize she'll probably punch me as soon as she returns to Seattle today. I think it was worth it.

"What? I never did that! I should smack you for that!" I feel tempted to point out she can't smack me from a few miles away but I've risked her wrath enough for one day.

"Yes you did! You tweeted it! The whole school read it! Chiz, I think the whole WORLD read it! I wouldn't be surprised if I found hate mail in my e-mail inbox from a penguin!" Exaggerations: One. Freddie Benson: Zero.

"I didn't-Oh chiz. I know who did it. He's a few feet away from me. Don't worry. Awesomeness Personified's got this handled. And in case you're stupid-which I believe you are-, that would be me." Only Sam would refer to herself as Awesomeness Personifed. Actually, I'm surprised she even knows how to use the word 'personified' in the proper context.

"Wait! Sam, are you going to do-"

"Bye, Frederico. Tell Carly I'll be back in Seattle a little later than planned." A dial tone rings through my head. It's never enough for her. She not only has to tell the world I'm gay, but she has to confuse me and hang up on me. Fantastic. Great. Excellent. Magnificent. Splendid. Swell. Amazing.

DOESN'T THAT JUST BEAT ALL?

(Something tells me I should've gone on that anger management retreat with Sam and her mom...Although they probably would've eaten me on the way over. I just noticed I'm talking about cannibalism in this monologue way too often. I really need to spend less time with Sam. I'll try to stop with all the mentions of human flesh eating.)

I hear a soft knock on the door. I push the door open slightly and glance around. It's Carly. She leads me out to the front parking lot. The egg-flingers are there waiting. Carly winks at me and walks over to them. I watch her tilt her head as she giggles and twirls her hair. The egg-flingers are distracted. I make a mad dash for my mom's car. I jump in yelling at my mom to "Drive, Mother! Drive before they egg us!"

For a woman who's so obsessed with health and safety, she sure knows how to quickly drive out of a parking lot. I think she left skid marks. My mom turns to me and tells me she was a go-kart racer during her rebellious phase as a teenager. I drop my mouth open in shock and am about to say something along the lines of "YOU LIE!" as she explains that she'll have me neutered if I ever go through a rebellious phase, much less become a go-kart racer. Never mind then.

After about twenty minutes of my mom driving, my mind numbed from all the classical music she's playing, we pull into the parking lot for Bushwell Plaza. We walk inside the lobby and my mom and Lewbert exchange irritated looks. Ew. Way to remind me of the fact Lewbert almost became my stepfather. I shudder as we step inside the elevator. My mom and I get off on the eighth floor. I drop my bookbag off in our apartment and go to Carly's apartment. I throw myself on the couch. I get to lie down completely as She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named isn't here right now.

Carly comes downstairs and prepares us a bowl of popcorn to eat while we watch the Girly Cow marathon. I believe this is the first time we'll actually get to eat the popcorn instead of watching Sam inhale it. I take a handful of popcorn and let its buttery goodness take me away from my problems. For the next couple of hours, Carly and me; and eventually Spencer who can't resist the charms of 'such an amazing, cleverly written, and educational cartoon. I don't think he realizes it's about the entertaining airheadedness of farm animals attempting to become popular.

The hours pass by and I've forgotten about whatever it was that was bothering me. I laugh as Girly slips on an orange peel. (Girly Cow's too original to use the standard banana.)

But my life is never easy for long. The door opens and who walks in? Sam carrying a bucket of fried chicken. Most girls carry purses. Not Sam. She carries buckets of food. She also ruins my life repeatedly.

"Sup, Carls. Spence. Creature laying down on the couch." I start repeating to myself that murdering Sam isn't worth a ruined future. Yet, anyways. So I settle for a death glare.

"Aw, don't look at me like that Fredward. I solved your problem." Pfft. Doubt it. She probably made it worse.

"Oh really? How?" I'd love to hear this.

"I degraded the little masculinity Nevel had left. Turns out he hacked into our Twitter account and said that just to mess with you." She says this as if it 's nothing. Like _Eh, somebody ruined your life. What do I care as long as I got me a bucket of fried chicken?_ Demon.

Carly shoots Sam a perplexed look. "Embarass him? How?"

Sam sighs happily. Whatever she did, she must've enjoyed it. "So Fredqueer was yelling at me on the phone about the Twitter thing and I was trying to tell him it wasn't me but of course the little nub didn't listen." She gives me a pointed look and continues. "I was walking around the anger management thingy admiring their stress-relieving toys and I saw Nevel. He was pouting as a bodyguard stood over him, making sure Nevel didn't run away from the seventeen-step anger management lecture and the pieces just clicked. I cornered him after the convention, stole his underwear, mailed it to Russia, and then I tied him to a horse statue with a sign hanging around his neck that said 'Target Dummy, Feel Free To Throw Stuff at Me'; knowing people at an anger management retreat wouldn't refuse. When I left, he was covered in watermelon, egg yolk, ketchup, and various suspicious liquids. I also hacked into his blog and told the world what he did to you. "

She goes back to chewing (well, inhaling) fried chicken like the world's ending tomorrow. (Well it could, but still.) Spencer mumbles something along the lines of "I know what it's like to be covered in suspicious liquid." Carly nods as if what Sam did is totally acceptable/normal.

Well, I've been called gay, dealed with random chiz from people about said gayness, found out my mom used to be a go-kart racer, screamed at Sam, Sam got revenge on Nevel, Sam miraculously wasn't the one who pranked me, and I watched a Girly Cow marathon. And that's just this week.

Such is the life of Freddie Benson.


End file.
